Seiobo There Below (22 page)

CALLE RAFAEL CASANOVAS 1

he looked at the clumsy letters, then with a movement of his head thanked him, and signaled that he would like to take the piece of paper, and the old man nodded in approval and wanted even to reach across to help him stuff the paper into the upper pocket of his shirt, but already for someone to touch him was too much for him, it was not possible to touch him, he had never been able to withstand that, during his entire life he had had a dread of being touched by anyone, even now no one could touch him, especially this old man with his putrid filthy hand; quickly he withdrew from him, just to make sure he wouldn’t consider getting carried away like this, he turned his back to him and lay like that for a few minutes, until he was certain that his neighbor understood that he didn’t want to talk to him anymore, nothing at all, as for him he had wrapped up, he had concluded the friend-making part, he lay motionless, closed his eyes again, and again the angels came to him above, then he opened his eyes, got up, went into the smoking room, stood around there for a while, then strolled into the toilets, sat there for a good long time; this was one place where he felt good, just like all the others there, because here it was possible to latch the door shut, a person could be alone, he could be alone now, no one saw him, he saw no one, but then it just bored him, because just sitting and sitting here above all the shit — because as it happened the toilet in the one free stall he had found was filled with shit — why didn’t it go down, he even pulled the cord several times to no result, before he sat down and after a while he just got bored sick, and he went back into the large room, he lay down, he looked for a while at the dead eye of the TV up above, then at the second hand of the clock, then at the TV again, then at the clock again, so that the day finally passed in this way; he could not remain in control of his legs, his muscles were completely exhausted because his two legs kept moving — particularly the left one, it beat with tiny steps into the air if he lay down — or if he was walking on the floor or the sidewalk, or if he stood; he was dead tired by evening, and he thought at last he would sleep unbrokenly, but of course, just as before, even now nothing more was granted to him than a half-hour now and then, as the others snored, cleared their throats, and made rattling noises, continually causing him to awaken with a start, on top of that the angels too kept coming, then one evening a swarm of mosquitoes: if he pulled the blanket over his head to keep them away, he was too hot, then, well, he had to get up in the large half-lit hall and stumble out to the toilet to urinate, then stumble back again, and the whole thing started over again from the beginning, one half-hour of sleep, then the angels and the swarming mosquitoes and the snoring, in this way the hour finally came when he saw the first signs that dawn was breaking, so that by the time there was daylight he had already washed his face, largely tidied up his clothes and his shoes, and was outside of the building already, he did not wait for the morning tea, he was much too exhausted for that, and he couldn’t take it anymore; he went along the street but not, this time, toward the Diagonal, but in the opposite direction, just like that, backward, so he could find someone who could give him directions, and at first he couldn’t find anyone, the streets here were very empty, but then someone was coming from the opposite direction, he showed them the paper first, then to many other people, until he got to the Calle Rafael Casanovas, then it was still too early, everything was closed, he guessed fairly confidently which building it was that he was looking for, it bore the sign Servicio Estación; that’s it, he thought, that could be it, and he began to pace up and down in front of it until a person came, pulled up the sliding gate on the entrance and opened up the shop, he was surly and rumpled, and he stared at him with distrust, indeed, when after a while he went into the shop after him, he looked at him with an expression that seemed to say it would be better if he just cleared out of here, but he didn’t clear out, he stayed and went over to him, took out the fifty euros — actually, he had spent four last night on a sandwich and something to drink, he showed the money now, then creased it into his hand, and with this hand he leaned onto the counter, bearing down on it with all of his weight, finally leaning forward slightly, toward the shopkeeper, and in a soft voice said just this much: cuchillo, understand? cuchillo jamonero, and he added for the last time, lest there be no doubt as to what he wanted: a knife, old man, a very sharp knife is what I want.

34

THE LIFE AND WORK
OF MASTER INOUE KAZUYUKI

I put down my crown, and in earthly form but not concealing my face, I descended among them, to seek out the Prince of Chu, the King of Mu, I had to leave the boundless plains of the Sky, the Radiant Empire of Light, I had to come from that world where form itself is resplendent; streaming forth it swells, and thus everything is filled by nothingness, I had to descend once more, and again, for I had to break away from the purity of the Heavens, and step into a moment; for nothing ever lasts longer, or even lasts as long as that, and thus so is my submerging below, not lasting longer than a single moment, if, yet, so much of everything can fit into one single moment; but the path did fit, as they put it, the path, as it is called in this coarse tongue, the sudden flash of light of that direction whence I have come thus far, the descent below, and the magnificence with which I made my descent as well, it all fit into that moment, because everything fit into it: the first steps in human form upon this earth, where my guide, my one mute escort led me, promptly and imperceptibly, so that I could take the path, and setting off upon it with human steps, I could then proceed among the troubling chaos of villages and cities, lands and oceans, valleys and peaks, the path fit into one single instant, the path, which led precisely over there to the theater corridor, for this time the meeting had been arranged in the Kanze Kaikan; the curtains — the agemaku — drifted apart before me, so that, in the form of a mae-shite, the hasigakari could open up for me there; I heard them from afar, I heard the drums of the hayashi musicians summoning me and that voice, comprehensible only in pain, of the noh kan, and then only this, the unscathed voices of the hayashi wolves, struck my ears; then I proceeded in my earthly form, in the noble radiance of the karaori kimono, through the familiar space of the Kanze, my feet hardly touching the smooth surface of the hinoki floorboards; as I moved toward the stage there was silence, there was unfathomable silence all around me, silence on the stage, for within me was merely the silence of the voices of the hayashi, and this directed me toward the palace, and I stepped in, and I interrupted the chant that rang out there, there too it became silent, already as I stepped in — although they could not know who had arrived — all became silent, unfathomably silent, maybe they were really looking at what could been seen by the eye, a noble lady, a being unknown, who suddenly is just there; the court of Chu, at my appearance, suddenly took a step backward, and with that, so to speak, the world too stepped back one pace from my path, so that it was not at all difficult for me to see where the throne was, the throne upon which the Prince of Chu, the King of Mu, was sitting, this upstanding ruler, creator of worldly peace in this scented and weighty earthly land, who, now in possession of a mirror — tawdry and broken but still a mirror of all that which is above him — truly has been worthy of the praise of the Heavens, a sign which I now must extend to him; but first there is the scent, at first only the indication of a scent, may the immortal fragrance of vegetation be the promise that I shall now disappear, but immediately be present in a true form, and already they can see the flowering apricot branches on my shoulders, they feel them, they have seen them until now, and they see my dance, while in reality I have disappeared, so that within that moment, I return as a nochi-shite, in my true form, for this is exactly what I promised, although they, immersed in the dance, see nothing but the illusion of the dance itself; however, I am there again, they see the phoenix crown upon my head, and the glittering lilac and scarlet silk of my attire: the simultaneous illumination of the ogushi kimono, the choken cloak at my side, and the sword attached at my waist, so that with every step I take, the whole becomes ever more and more visible, but all is woven through ethereally with gold, I see their startled amazement, only the Prince of Chu, the King of Mu remains immovable and disciplined, on his face is respect, distance, the precise consciousness of proportions; he watches me, he watches only me, he is the only one who truly sees me, who doesn’t merely become giddy with the enchantment of the dance; I now extend to him, through my escort, the seeds of the plant of immortality, may this be an offering for the peace he has created, so there may be, in his hands, a sign to remind him of this peace, so it may remain; he looks at me, moved, he looks at my dance, but he sees me as well, as I relate to him with earthly movements that there is a Heaven, that high above the clouds there is a Light that then scatters into a thousand colors, that there is, if he casts his gaze up high and becomes deeply immersed in his soul, a boundless space in which there is nothing, but nothing at all, not even a tiny little movement like this one here, which now must slowly come to an end; slowly I must turn away from this staring, happy gaze, and I must set off on the hashigakari hinoki-wood stage boards, with my escort behind me, toward the agemaku, and by now I only hear the kakegoe-silence of the hayashi musicians, a body takes me, a body that is not my own, the colored curtains of the agemaku open up respectfully, and finally I can step away from the space of this stage and in front of an enormous mirror, remove myself from this body that has carried me, I may return, for return I must, I must put down my phoenix crown, I must free myself from this lilac and scarlet silken grace shot through with gold, and I must at once set off, go back to that place from whence I came, only my escort now appears before me, to show me the path, as they call it in this coarse tongue, yet again, and I slowly take my leave of the familiar world of the Kanze, the odors and the weight slowly vanish from around me, the sound of the drums and the cries of the hayashi musicians growing ever distant, yet still striking my heart now and then, but already I am ascending, I still see the troubling chaos of the villages and the cities, the lands and the seas, the valleys and the peaks, and the moment that enclosed so much into itself comes to an end, and as I ascend, everything ascends with me, a magnificence rises there, a magnificence — back to the purity of the Heavens, to the sphere inconceivable — which in its own form, resplendent, streaming forth, swelling, is nothing else than a return back to that place where nothing is, to the Radiant Empire of Light, the boundless plains of the Sky, for that is the place where I exist, although I am not, for this is where I may place my crown upon my head, and I can think to myself that Seiobo was there below.

They help him, but there are too many, too many assistants; to tell the truth even one would be too many, and still there’s this crowd of people here; he would like to be alone here for a while, alone in the mirrored room, he would like to remove the zõ-onna mask from his face by himself, he could certainly do so if he were alone, but no, this he cannot do, the theater assistants obligingly jump all around him, they have already untied the mask’s cord at the back of his head, and they’re even leading him out already, out of the mirrored room, the sound of clapping can still be heard from the audience in the Kanze, then it dies away; but even if it weren’t dying away he wouldn’t be able to hear it, because they have taken him into the dressing room and already they are pulling, unhooking, unbuttoning, unwinding off from him all that must come off, as if it were urgent, when it is not urgent, they are taking off the costume from him already, one of them is folding up the expensive kimono, the other is already folding up the hakama, it all goes completely smoothly like a well-oiled machine, everyone in a great rush as if it were important that he should not be the nochi-shite he was just now, but just as soon as possible Inoue sensei once again; yet he would like to be alone just for a little while, alone, but no, this is not possible, someone is running up to him and softly whispers in his ear that the sensei — that is to say he himself, has a total of fifteen minutes — then someone, Kaneko-san, is coming for him, who will take him to the car via the performers’ entrance, then within minutes, he will be in the select presence of the venerable spectators, of the wealthy sponsors, at the reception organized by the Kanze, no, he knows that it has to be like this; he has done so on many hundreds of occasions already; still, every single time, just like now, one single feeling works within him: how unpleasant it is that he cannot be alone, it is especially difficult here in the Kanze Kaikan — although it is difficult in every Noh theater, for it is always like this, after the performance one has to rush so as not to be late in receiving the congratulatory bows in the eloquent banquet-rooms in the hotels or the restaurants; the nearby hotel, this time sensei Umewaka Rokura himself might be present, the theater assistant whispers, although it is not at all certain, as sensei Rokura as a matter of fact may well be heading to Tokyo on the Shinkansen, but maybe — the assistant tilts his head to the side with an endearing smile — and already they are giving him the shite’s, that is to say his own, robe, so he can go into the shower; certainly, without the slightest doubt, he has to do this, the assistant is leaping in front of him with ultimate courtesy, but it’s as if he were running behind him and pushing him forward so that he would go into the bathroom already, for on his arm already there hangs the pants and the shirt of the venerable shite, indeed, even his necktie, which then the attendant ties for him, but I could do up my own necktie, thinks the sensei tiredly, he doesn’t even really admit it to himself, but now, at times like this, after the agemaku tumbles down behind him, and the performance has come to an end, the desire is always there within him simply to preserve this infinite joy and tranquility, to conceal the infinite fatigue that is within him as well, he would like to conceal it completely but his costume is already being removed, the cord of the mask is being untied from the back, the kimono and hakama are already off, there is only his sweating body, he feels that very much; another assistant however obligingly offers him a towel, and he is already wiping himself off, to free himself from much of the sweat, there is no time to think, there is no time to be immersed in thought, everyone unceasingly rushes around, as always the excitement is great, as if something had happened out there that he himself doesn’t know about, he hopes that it is the performance itself that gives rise to such excitement behind the stage, in the rear spaces of the building, but no, he knows that isn’t the cause, there are too many performances for that, too much superfluous repetition of meaningless insignificant things, as for example these successively repeating, superfluous, and meaningless receptions, where of course he has to be present to acknowledge the words of recognition and the bows, and maybe sensei Rokuro himself will really be there, in that school belonging to a branch of the Kanze Umewaka, the Kyõto-branch leadership of which has devolved onto himself in recent months — this hope always comes up — because that would make it worthwhile if the fifty-sixth sensei, Umewaka Rokura, the director of the school, would be there, the reception itself would at once be meaningful — of course as usual sensei Rokuro isn’t there at these receptions, only his wife, in the best cases, is, although that too is rare — sensei Rokuro usually isn’t there; it is to sensei Rokuro and none other, however, that the shite of today’s performance, that is to say he, sensei Inoue, can give thanks, sensei Rokuro is unquestionably the leading authority of the Umewaka school, and for him, sensei Inoue — who never was and perhaps never will be a true professional Noh actor, as he started off with too many disadvantages, on the one hand he did not come from a Noh family, and on the other he began the Noh practice late in life, that is to say when he was already an adult — for him, it was only the sensitivity of sensei Rokuro, his recognition of sensei Inoue’s particular abilities, in a word, that sharp eye that had discovered him, that is the reason why he is treated like a professional Noh actor and is given two or three shite-roles every year, just like the others, like anyone else among the membership of the Umewaka or the Kanze schools, in addition to which the distinction of the directorship of the Umewaka Kyõto branch has been entrusted to him, unambiguously indicating that sensei Rokuro favors him, and understands that for him the art of Noh is his entire life: where he, Inoue Kazuyuki, is just a medium who, so to speak, merely allows onto himself that which the Heavens shower down upon him — just let there be no reception, he shakes his head underneath the shower tap, although he doesn’t have much time either for showering or head-shaking, for the assistant is standing there with the towels and with his clothes; in barely ten minutes from now, he will be there standing at the edge of the reception organized for the wealthy patrons, not daring to push deeper into the crowd, although he is forced inward, and he hears words of recognition coming from every direction, and with deep bows, everyone expresses how miraculous they consider what they just saw on the stage of the Kanze Kaikan; a glass is in his hand but still he doesn’t drink from it, for a while now he has only drunk a special kind of water, which a Korean healer, whom he visits regularly, prescribes for him, for he only trusts in him and not in doctors; he has high blood pressure, ever since his life-threatening Dojoji performance last year it at times goes up to two hundred, and this could give rise to serious concerns, the doctors shake their heads, but the little Korean doesn’t shake his head at all, he just nods once and prescribes the special water for two hundred thousand yen; he believes in it, and that is perhaps the most important thing, he feels the beneficial effect, he tells his experiences to the Korean who doesn’t say anything in reply, he just bows and nods, and once again he prescribes the special water, gold is more expensive, Ribu-san, sensei Inoue’s wife, jokingly notes to Amoru-san, his second wife, but of course it remains only between them; now, however, of course, there is a champagne glass in the sensei’s hand, he steals a glance at the clock on the wall, he will stay for a bit longer, then after a long farewell during which he must take leave of every person there individually, he leaves the room, the taxi has already been there in front of the hotel for a while, and it has been waiting for him, we’re going to the Mahorowa, the sensei says softly, which circumstance indicates that everything continues exactly the same as always, namely that we’re going to the Mahorowa, and the sensei will continue his rehearsal, for him there is no difference between the rehearsal and the performance, there is only a difference between the practice of Noh and the non-practice of Noh — the latter, however is something that he hardly recognizes — his entire day from morning until late at night is filled with rehearsal, whether he is in Kyõto or Tokyo, as he divides his life between these two cities, for he has disciples in Kyõto and the surrounding areas as well, and he has disciples in Toyko and its surrounding areas, so accordingly two weeks in Kyõto, two weeks in Tokyo, that is how the sensei’s life proceeds, in which of course are his own rehearsals are the most important, and these take place either in the Mahorowa or in the Shin-E Building, depending on what the sensei deems advisable, if he has to go to the Korean or wishes to return for a short while to his parents’ home, then he goes to the Shin-E Building not far from Kyõto Station; if he wants to stay at home — and generally he does at the end of the day — then the Mahorowa; the Shin-E Building or the Mahorowa, the Mahorowa or the Shin-E Building, if he is in Kyõto, things proceed between these two places, but often enough, he creates the impression among the family members, and also his disciples, especially his most fervent admirers — Chiwako-san and Norumu-san, or Himuko-san or Raun — that he is simply improvising in the selection of his schedule; in any event, as soon as the expression “improvising” arises they drive it out of their minds, because — they affirm among themselves — that even if it seems that way, he never improvises, what happens is not improvisation, absolutely not in the everyday sense of the word, of that they are sure, since the sensei knows everything in advance, and knows it with dead certainty, and this is the general conviction, that’s why only to them does it seem like improvisation, because while it is true that he has a prescribed schedule for every given month, the sensei is eternally open, like a book, which means that he is in direct contact with the Heavens, and for that reason he may suddenly be a bit unpredictable, since he follows the dictates of his soul in this direct connection, and thus he is constantly overturning all the things in the monthly-schedule notebooks he himself deems advisable to plan out for himself; the sensei himself does not, of course, sense this unpredictably, for he is entirely free, in this and every possible sense of the word he is free — rehearsal and teaching, teaching and rehearsal — in a word, only and exclusively the Noh; only rarely does he go anywhere different, for example, now and then, to the place before a performance where the play in question is being performed, so that he can worship there, or to the services of the Christian congregation at the corner of Oike Kawaramachi, but not for Jesus, as he puts it, but so he can take part in a shared collective joy, and of course only rarely, only sometimes, because as a rule there is only rehearsal, for hours on end, and there is only teaching, for hours on end, get some sleep, the family members say, he sleeps for only three or four hours a day, for he goes to bed only very late at night, never before two in the morning, and he is already up before the first birdsong, at such times he reads, he prays, then somehow the day begins, with rehearsal, with teaching; then again rehearsal, then teaching again, and finally rehearsal and rehearsal in the Mahorowa, generally, if he is staying in Kyõto, there the day’s activities end, the Mahorowa is very close to his residence, which as a residence is, in contrast to those of the other Noh performers, a modest two-story little building near the Kamigamo temple in the middle of a hardly elegant district, the sensei does not wish for riches — the disciples and the family members note — except when he is traveling, they add, then of course he has to be accommodated in a hotel that is worthy of his status, or a place commensurate with his status must be chosen for him at a dinner, although not anywhere in particular, he looks for simplicity in everything, the simple and the transparent, as opposed to complexity, luxury, and superfluity; the taxi glides along; in the back seat sit the sensei and Amoru-san, and behind the taxi is the minibus with the disciples, and behind that are the family members in their cars, and thus they reach the Mahorowa this evening, and after a late dinner together and some more Seiobo-rehearsing, he withdraws, with only his close family, with Ribu-san and Amoru-san at his side, into the house that serves as his home; he prays for a long time at the house altar, then answers a question now and then put to him by Ribu-san, then they kneel down and they bow to each other, and that is how they take leave of one another, then he, the sensei, takes a bath, and goes up to his room, where at last he can be alone, he loves this best of all, to be alone before going to sleep, closeted in the bedroom, he turns on the electric light, it illuminates faintly, weakly, he takes up his book, sensei Takahashi’s commentary on the Heart Sutra, which he reads regularly — and he begins somewhere, then he goes to the window, looks out onto the dark evening, prays for a long time, and at last lies back down, reads a few more pages yet, then closes the book, puts it in place on the small table next to the bed, and he is alone, enough now to be able to become tranquil, he is now capable of falling asleep, and then slowly he really does fall asleep into deep slumber.